Just Another Night in Ludicrousy
by Ebonshire
Summary: Heh, this is quite random I guess, but it's just a short story about Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, on one of their many scripting nights. I realize not all of the facts are entirely accurate, but hey, it's a Fanfic, right? Rated T only for some language.


Bob sat in silence, chewing absently at the rubber end of his stubby HB pencil, profoundly bored and tapping his fingers in agitation. A yellowish piece of lined paper sat on the scuffed table in front of him, a few pointless, scribbled notes written carelessly in random places. The weekly chore of coming up with another utterly ridiculous script for the Big Night Out tour was dragging on particularly painfully tonight; every weak pun and aimless spiel of nonsense seemed to already have been used in earlier sketches...

Bob sighed and twitched his head down to look at his brown leather watch for the umpteenth time that evening; it was pushing 10:30, and they hadn't even decided on anything concrete for the first few live sketches.  
The fifteenth show of the month was airing in a week's time; leaving them probably around 5 days to rehearse a full half hour of frantic rambling and, basically, _fucking about_.

His dark mahogany eyes flicked upwards to gaze at his co-worker and best friend, who was sat opposite him in his flat's murky dining room, staring off into a corner, his gleaming, elegantly booted feet propped up ignorantly on the wooden table.

Vic was the sort of friend everyone wanted; he was good-natured, funny (hysterically so on occasion) and extremely loyal and constant. However, there were times, like tonight, when his more annoying traits broke through; and when they did, he could become unbearable.

He'd been in a funny mood ever since he'd arrived at around 9:00PM; his gleaming, sky-blue eyes were wide and twitchy, his plump, almost demure lips spewing forth even more rubbish than usual, stocky limbs springy and random. Warning bells had begun ringing already; the last thing Bob knew he needed was Vic in one of his _episodes _after he'd been at work all day...

After managing to convince him to actually sit down and get started on the scripting, Vic's only input had been to screech out absurdities that were too irrelevant and extreme for even their seriously questionable show. Well, _Vic's _ seriously questionable show... He was effortless in his total command of the limelight on stage; his twinkling eyes, slick haircut and easy, charming smile never failed to enchant the audience, leaving Bob as the mere _sidekick_ in their act, the _support_, the _underdog_ in a way.

And, of course, when he started to sing...

Bob sighed again, heavier this time, and let his short, nibbled pencil fall with a clatter onto the table, leaning back in his chair, still gazing intently at Vic's oddly vacant face.

"So... you thought up owt decent yet?" Bob's gentle voice asked cautiously, frowning as Vic's soft face barely even twinged, his long hands clasped leisurely across his subtly-muscled stomach. Bob let the silence hold, until Vic finally shifted his wild azure eyes to return Bob's directed stare.

"Ya see, I was thinking... what if... what if we get a group of nuns with tadpoles in their mouths to parade me around the stage on a turnip-lined chaise-lounge, then they could start a waltz to the theme of The Archers, and..."

"For God's sake..." Bob interrupted Vic's deep, excited tone tiredly, his voice almost a whine, "Can't you see just how _ridiculous_ your ideas are getting? There's a fine line between being entertaining and just being _absurd_."

Vic cocked his head to the side, twitching his features and blowing upwards as a stray, glossy lock of jet black hair tickled his forehead. His small mouth curled upwards at the edges into his meltingly cheeky smile, eyes glittering.

"Hey, it's what I do best, right? C'mon, the crowd loves nonsense; it'd go down a treat."

He flashed a quick glimpse of his compacted, yellow-tinted teeth in an amused grin before looking down and adjusting his white and navy silk tie, smoothing the extended lapels of his eccentric black velvet jacket. The protruding creamy lace cuffs of his reproduction Victorian shirt underneath swayed as he did so, fragments of thread catching on the thick material of his jacket sleeve.

Bob cast his eyes skywards impatiently, pursing his dipped, bitten lips and murmering a noise of distaste,

"Jim, look, we can't -"

The sudden bang of a fist on wood stopped him mid-sentence, and he looked over in startled surprise.

"You _know_ not to call me that anymore," Vic growled slowly, "I didn't spend fifty quid changing my name to still be _reminded_ of it, thanks very much."

His posture had become tense and rigid; and he swung his sleekly flared legs off the table moodily, pouting and glaring darkly, almost dangerously, at his friend.

Bob shifted nervously, afraid to meet his eyes properly, mentally cursing himself for momentarily forgetting Vic's impetuous name change from a few months back.

I wasn't really a problem _remembering_ it; he'd just known his as Jim Moir for so many years, it had become automatic.

Vic had made it known for a long time that he hated his name; too common, too _working class_, he'd said...  
Yet, he was undeniably of working class descent; his thick accent and happy-go-lucky nature reflected a thoroughly northern upbringing, something he had become somewhat ashamed of as he got older.

He'd attended an amateur drama school in hopes of becoming a singer/entertainer, juggling that, a full-time job as a hired-help pig herder and pretty frenzied love life in those early days.

Bob had met him at that drama school; where he was also fitting in amateur dramatics around a full lifestyle, although _he'd_ been attending the county's top college at the time, studying Sociology and Business Management , ready for progression onto a university course in Soliciting.

The spark between them had been sudden and inevitable; they were so different, so unlikely... Bob quiet, reserved and suffering at first from a chronic stagefright, Vic... _Jim_ ... so lively, cheerful and dominant with his all-enveloping presence. His youthful enthusiasm and fresh-faced optimism had been so infectious, and Bob knew it was thanks to him that he'd emerged, even if only a little, from his introverted shell.

Although Bob had remained to this day in Vic's long shadow, there was a connection between the two, both in on stage and in friendship, which meant one could not _**be**_ without the other.

A similar dark shadow was reflected above Vic's threatening eyes, and Bob hunched his narrow shoulders self consciously, his nose twitching anxiously.

"Sorry, _Vic_... But, maybe we should try and, I dunno, take the show down a peg or two? I mean, that act you made up for Novelty Island last week with the squirrel and the drainpipe... The audience were just _confused_, couldn't you sense that?"

He paused a moment as Vic shifted his gaze away hastily, a deep smirk etched onto his face, his eyes narrow but crinkled with amusement,

"Vic? Come on, you know what I mean, don't you?"

Vic's rigid expression softened a little, and he shook his dark, lustrous head a little sadly, turning to face Bob again, leaning heavily on the table and resting his rounded chin on a smooth, upturned hand.

"What's gotten into you, lately? You've never been _this_ uptight before, what's your _**problem**_?" He asked wearily, blinking pointedly, lips still set in a sullen pout.

Bob tutted and leant back again, closing his deep hazel eyes tightly and letting out a long breath.

"My **problem** is that we're not getting anywhere... We can keep shitting out these piece of crap shows, but what's the _purpose_? Where are we going with it?"

Vic stared at him curiously before raising his head swiftly, laying it to the side and drifting effortlessly into his endearing dimpled smile again, fiddling absently with the thick silver wedding ring set unusually on his right hand.

"Hey... Does there really _need_ to be a purpose? Hell, _**we**_ enjoy it, the public enjoys it, what more purpose do ya need!?" He spoke softly, his voice tender and aggravatingly convincing. Bob remained still, keeping his small almond eyes shut, but his delicately framed face soothed at the edges slightly, eyebrows relaxing.

Vic's smile widened as he sensed an imminent victory here; and he got up silently, sneaking stealthily round the table, crouching next to him, his features hovering inches away from Bob's.

Bob twitched, alarmed, as he felt warm breath flowing softly onto his cheeks, and he opened his eyes to see Vic's grinning face peering in at him, his startlingly close sapphire eyes large and puppy-dog-like.

As Vic winked charmingly, swaying his head comically from side to side, the corners of Bob's pursed lips inadvertently wobbled, inching upwards into an unwitting smile.  
As Vic's expression creased into an absurd leer, crossing his eyes and lolling his tongue moronically, Bob barked a sudden, fierce laugh, his unexpected grin lopsided from a missing molar, instantly having to lean forwards to hold his slender stomach as the heaving shrieks clenched and cramped.

Vic was laughing too; a wide grin showing most of his teeth, as he rose and rested a friendly arm around his friend's heaving shoulder, ruffling his fluffy chocolatey hair and poking at the side of his creasing face in jest.

As Bob's laughing fit calmed gradually to dry gulps, he turned his head slightly to view Vic's still smiling face, his lashes wet with hysterical tears, cheeks red and blotchy.

"Jesus, I've never seen _that_ one before! " He exclaimed hoarsely, rubbing at his eyes with a clenched fist.

Vic winked again, sticking out his pointy tongue,

"Just one of my many talents; I'll try and save up a better one for 'ya!"

As Bob steadied his breathing back to normal, easing the aching corners of his mouth with his fingers, all of his reservation and anxiety melted away with with the overpoweringly contagious energy and spirit which emanated in waves from Vic's warm, honest face.

It had always been clear that something _surreal_ beat underneath his crisp-suited surface, something relentlessly _pulsating,_ which tended to overflow and spill onto those around him, but it was times like these that his gift enabled him to effortlessly and completely control any situation he found himself in.

And though Bob knew this, any worry he should feel was washed away by that naturally enchanting smile, brushed aside by those bright, shimmering eyes.

Bob gazed back at him contentedly, his eyes narrowing, smile extending into a mischievous smirk;

"So... What were you saying about the nuns and the tadpoles?"


End file.
